


the great below and above

by takenbynumbers



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29603115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takenbynumbers/pseuds/takenbynumbers
Summary: Using each other is all part of the plan.
Relationships: Lazard Deusericus/Tseng
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	the great below and above

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valentined](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valentined/gifts).



“What has little brother done now?” Lazard’s smooth baritone washed over Tseng and he sighed, accepting the offered glass of clear liquid. Unlike his brother, Lazard’s tastes tended to lean towards alcoholic beverages that even Tseng could drink without wincing.

“Less of what he’s done, and more…you heard the news, I take it?”

Lazard nodded, circling around to lean against his desk, keeping his gaze steady on Tseng. He had always been this odd, calming presence – much in the same way Reeve could be. Except, Lazard tended to _let_ Tseng finish his rants on the company before offering solutions. Or at the very least, commiseration.

“You would _think_ someone else would be more suitable for babysitting duties. You hate Costa.”

“Not like Heidegger cares. We’re all disposable faces in suits to him. Mine just happened to stand out for all the wrong reasons this time.”

Or for the right reasons. Like the first time he saw Lazard Deusericus completely by accident, when he was still a rookie, accompanying Veld on the rounds around the office. Two-Guns had shoved him aside on the way to _something_ , and he ended up sprawled on the floor of someone’s office. Someone who was _clearly_ amused by the state Tseng was in - huffy and scrambling to his feet, stammering apologies while plotting Shotgun’s slow and painful death.

“It’s quite fine. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

A white leather-gloved hand was offered, and Tseng accepted it, allowing himself to be hauled up, his head bowed with embarrassment.

His dark eyes widen with recognition – how can he not, given that Veld had drilled the various names of the higher ups that were _important_ into him? And Lazard? Right up there.

“Thank you,” Tseng said quietly, brushing himself off.

“You’re welcome. Tseng, is it?”

Seemed like he wasn’t the only one who did their research.

“Yes, sir.”

“Call me Lazard.”

And Tseng did. Time and time again, in passing, over coffee, over drinks – late at night, when no one was around.

Over the years, the camaraderie grew, as did their own positions of power. Tseng listened to Lazard’s plans – of justice for those in the slums below the plate. Like his mother. Like the refugees of the Wutai war. Grand, long-term plans that could _work_. And slowly, Lazard started opening up in a _personal_ fashion and maybe Tseng shouldn’t have kissed him that night. Over rice spirit and pizza, lounging in Lazard’s apartment on his _couch_ , like they were friends. They were. In a manner of speaking.

As much of friends as either of them would ever get to experience.

And Tseng was experiencing more than friendship – three fingers deep, stretching Lazard, listening to the way he moved with every _press_ and _twist_ , tightening and _so close_ to the edge already?

“How long has it been?” Tseng had whispered huskily, pulling his fingers free to replace them with his cock, already too eager to sink into him. “You could have anyone. Why wait?”

“Wanted… _ah_! _You_.” They were both still wearing their shirts, only managing to get their pants down low enough for access. His whole body felt like it was burning up from the inside out as he thrust into Lazard hard enough to rip low moans and gasps from his throat. Even on the couch, he could still get a good rhythm, fucking him hard enough to start moving the couch, hearing the scrape against the floorboard before –

“ _Tseng_ , you’ll ruin the boards.” He paused, and Lazard lifted his head, turning his head to look at him. Blue eyes blown black, lips swollen from their kissing earlier, his face flushed with arousal, blond hair all mussed around his head. His glasses had disappeared…somewhere, after Tseng was reassured that yes, he could still see him.

“I didn’t say stop.”

Tseng picked up the pace, fingers digging into Lazard’s hips hard enough to bruise, sweat starting to bead on his forehead until he just – _came_. Suddenly, without warning, vaguely aware of the low whining coming from Lazard as he spilled onto the couch, muscles clenched tightly around his cock. _Milking_ him for all he was worth.

It didn’t progress further beyond their simple friendship; they still got together for a coffee, perfectly innocent and on company time. Exchanging interesting bits of information. One could call it making an ally – another person would correctly identify it as _collusion._ Their best plans made between the sheets.

And now, in Lazard’s office, drink in hand – Tseng watched as Lazard made his way back to his chair, sitting down with a small smirk on his face. And he _knew_ what that smirk meant, couldn’t help the heat starting to pool in his abdomen. He followed, allowing Lazard to grab him by the wrist, pull him closer. Tseng _adored_ the sight of those white gloves against his own clad hands, his suit, twisting around his cock.

“Does he still make eyes at you? Try to touch your hair?” Tseng caught the flash of jealousy in Lazard’s eyes and couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at his lips. “He has it _bad_ for you.”

“Pity he won’t be my first Shinra, no?”

“First _acknowledged_ one. I hope you know how far this could go. Would you sleep with him?”

Tseng had thought about it. Shoving Rufus into the bed, face down, ass up – like he deserved – to thinking about Lazard in much the same position. Remembering the last time, he had him in such a position, more importantly.

“From behind it would be like fucking a brattier version of you.”

“Hmph.” The answer seemed to please Lazard, enough for him to tug Tseng closer, hand running up his side. “Be cautious. Don’t underestimate him. We know what he’s capable of. And you want him on _your_ side for my plan to work.”

Tseng just tipped the glass back, the harsh spirit slipping down his throat. They were using each other; he could recognize that. That behind the friendship was two _very_ conniving men. Enough to try and twist their own feelings into something _useful_ that would benefit them both. And what he needed was _information_. On the SOLDIER program, on the SOLDIERS themselves – on what _Hojo_ was doing to them. On the strength they had, how it could help his own department in the future.

There would come a day where Tseng would have to choose between his Turks – and his feelings. As much as he tried to fool himself into thinking that this was _beneficial_ – someone would get hurt. And he was determined to ensure it would _not_ be him.

Setting down the glass, Tseng sunk down to his knees and moved to crouch between Lazard’s legs fingers dancing over his thighs, looking up at Lazard’s face as his hand goes to Tseng’s hair and pulled his hairband free.

“I have twenty minutes until my meeting with the Firsts. Be quick.”

Tseng smirked, fingers deftly undoing Lazard’s belt. He had no intention on being quick, nor did he appreciate being told _what_ to do. But Lazard hadn’t learnt that.

Yet.


End file.
